


It Started With a Kiss

by redwinehouse (orphan_account)



Series: Cranial Capacity INDEFINITE HIATUS, BUT A FULL STORY LINE WAS COMPLETED [31]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comedy, Crime, F/M, Humor, Murder Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 18:35:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12086943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/redwinehouse
Summary: When a body riddled with bullets is found splayed on the pavement, Sherlock knows that there is a murderer stalking the streets of London. Being a pivotal part of the case, he turns to you for aid. He quickly puts himself in a position he was forced into years ago and he is far from happy about it.





	It Started With a Kiss

  


[ ](http://www.dazzlejunction.com/generators/image-generator.php)

  


The first day of school was always hell for everybody. You watched as your freshman students dragged themselves into the lecture hall, bleary eyed and grumpy. They dropped their notebooks onto the small fold out desktops and threw their backpacks underneath them. Almost everyone immediately put their head down on their desk, hoping to catch a few more minutes of rest before the school year officially began. 

You looked down at your watch and saw that it was time to get the ball rolling. “So, first I’d like to thank everyone for coming out at eight in the morning.” You switched on your computer and turned on your first slide. You were about to go over the syllabus, but you were cut off when the side door burst open. A gust of air swooped in, causing papers to fly in every direction. Sherlock’s dark silhouette contrasted dramatically against the morning sun. The students broke out in conversation, gasps, and every other noise that could be emitted from the human mouth. To put it simply, they were stunned. 

Sherlock looked at them for a moment and raised a finger in passive recognition. Years ago he would have completely ignored them, or probably insulted them. After being with you for so long, he had built up a tolerance through immersion. Plus, you knew he loved the unquestioning worship. And even though Sherlock never admitted it, he had made some sort of connection with a few of them. But in the end, Sherlock was still Sherlock and he found most of them moronic. 

Obviously. 

“I need you to look at this,” he said, closing your power point and stabbing a flash drive into your computer. Sherlock clicked onto the file and the room filled with screams. “Oh, shut it!” Sherlock snapped, looking out into the crowd. “You’re almost ten, double digits. Time to grow up!” 

”Put eight more years on that, love,” you said quietly. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He tapped the computer screen. “We just found him this morning.” 

Your hands flew to your mouth and you gave out a small cry. The picture showed a fellow colleague splayed out on the pavement with a gunshot wound to the head. The back of his skull had been blown out and his brain matter was splashed out onto the road. You felt your blood run cold. You grabbed onto Sherlock’s arm to steady yourself, afraid that you were going to fall down. You heard one of the students vomit. 

”You’re going to have some sick to clean up,” Sherlock said casually. “He had his school ID on him but the name had been shot off. I was hoping you knew him.” 

”You could have just looked him up,” you whispered. 

Sherlock tilted his head, confused by your irritation. “Well, I’m _sorry_ I wanted to include you in my work.” 

By now you had completely forgotten that there were two hundred kids in the room. “Of course I want to be included in your passion, but you need to understand that you just showed me a picture of someone I know brutally murdered!” 

”Alright, I’m so deeply sorry for your loss. God rest his soul.” Sherlock said hurriedly, clearly annoyed. “Who is he?” 

You ran a hand down your face. “His name is David Johnson and he teaches,” You rolled your eyes, trying not to cry, “- _taught_ earth sedimentary processes. He was one of our best geologists.” You crossed your arms. 

If you had looked up, you would have seen that all of the students were hanging off your every word. It wasn’t every day they saw a Sherlock Holmes case right before their eyes. 

”What do you know so far?” Sherlock was about to answer, but he noticed an impish smile play on your lips. 

He narrowed his eyes, looking at you with suspicion. He knew that look. Usually he was the one who gave it. “What do you want?” When you still didn’t answer, he scowled. “Don’t you dare.” 

”Show them.” You tossed him the laser pointer. 

”I am a bit caught up with things that matter at the moment,” Sherlock snapped. 

You shrugged, walking back to the students and sitting down in front of the first row. “I know.” You waved at the projector screen. “So get to it! Just like last time.” 

Sherlock closed his eyes and took in a large, irritated breath. “You are insufferable. I’m not stopping for them this time,” he warned. 

You smiled and held up a hand. “That’s fine. Go ahead.” 

Sherlock jabbed the pointer light to the bullet hole on David’s head. “Obviously the first thing I looked at was the fatal wound as you do in homicide. When it is a gunshot to the head it is important to rule out the possibility of suicide immediately so that you don’t waste your time on someone who doesn’t matter.” 

”Sherlock!” you reprimanded, horrified. 

Sherlock’s clenched his fists looked at the ceiling. “It wasn’t like he was your best friend! Calm down.” He made a fast circle with the light around the bullet hole. “Suicide shots are usually made within close range and the victim would typically put the gun to his forehead. This would leave a burn mark and gunpowder residue, which you see none of here or on his hand. The angle is slightly downward, in direct opposition to the usual upward facing angle of a suicide shot.” Sherlock flicked the light to David’s arms. “There are noticeable defense wounds, an obvious sign of a struggle that would not be seen in a suicide.” He looked at the class. “We always take into account whether or not there is a pattern of suicidal thoughts or past actions. However, this seems rather cut and dry. May I please leave?” His blue eyes had flicked to you. 

You chuckled. “Yes, you may leave.” 

”Grab your coat. It’s cold.” 

You paused. “Sherlock, I have classes today. It’s the first day of school.” 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “So?” 

For almost ten years you had been with this man and his mannerisms still made you laugh. He genuinely did not see the problem in you packing your things and abandoning a whole room of people that were counting on you. You didn’t know what came over you, but all of the professionalism drained from your body and you grabbed Sherlock by the coat lapels. You pulled him towards you hard enough to make his long legs stumble. 

”What are you doing?” he asked, wild eyed. 

Instead of answering, you buried your hands in his hair and smashed your lips together. You sighed at the taste of him. 

Sherlock squirmed. “I don’t-“ he managed between kisses. “Not appropriate-“ you bit his lip. “They’re only twelve-“ When he heard a wolf whistle he smiled against your lips. “Whatever.” He slipped an arm around your waist and pulled you flush against him. Running his fingers through your hair, he kissed you back with just as much passion. 

All of the kids were beside themselves, egging you on, whistling, and squealing about how cute you were. However there was one girl in the back who was not amused by your antics. She narrowed her eyes at your PDA, disgusted by something so inappropriate. Making sure no one was looking at her, she took out her phone and took a picture of you. Putting it back into her pocket, she quietly slipped out of the lecture hall and made her way across campus to the Dean’s office.

**Author's Note:**

> And we're onto our next arc! <3


End file.
